Chapter 527: Bro Supremacy

Jack smashed into the many weapons and monsters summoned by Elder Shadowhound. Each was wrought of darkness and pain, their sharp edges glinting without light. They seemed deadly. Yet, they were nothing but figments of the imagination, parts of Shadowhound’s will.

They could only harm Jack if he let them.

“Fool!” Shadowhound shouted, gloating already. “You should have never let me trap you here! I’ve trained my Will for untold millennia, while you only recently evolved from a worm. Prepare to die!”

Jack smiled. He rushed into the onslaught. His fists flashed purple, obliterating any darkness they fell upon, but there were more enemies than he could manage. They cut into him. Blades cleaved off his limbs, monsters chomped at his shoulders. Yet, he remained calm throughout. Every piece of damage they inflicted regenerated instantly. His fists slammed out, continuously obliterating monsters, knowing full well that Shadowhound experienced each fatal blow his summons received.

Groans of pain left the Elder’s mouth, but he remained confident. “Fool!” he repeated. “This is my domain! There is no way you can defeat me!”

Jack smiled. “We’ll see.”

Battles of wills were won by the person with the strongest will. Jack specialized in Physical and didn’t possess many Will attacks, so if Shadowhound just stood still, Jack would be unable to touch him. Defense, however, didn’t rely on techniques. Jack’s willpower had been forged through endless pain and suffering, endless struggle, endless loss. In this aspect alone, he was confident in facing anyone, even Archons and Overlords. It didn’t matter how strong they were—their willpower would always be inferior to his, as was evident by their inferior talent.

Jack endured the assault, not even changing his expression. “Keep coming at me, Shadowhound,” he said. “Throw me everything you got, but remember this: I will not budge. No matter what attacks you’ve prepared, I’ve been through worse. When you finally grow tired, I’ll still be here—and then, it will be my turn.”

Shadowhound roared, unleashing more attacks. Jack defended calmly. No matter how many strikes hit him or how much pain he experienced, it was all fake. He waited patiently. As for what would happen in the real world until then… He was not worried. His bro had it covered.

***

Hearing Brock’s arrogant words, Fiend Prince snorted. “Get out of here,” he said. He flew forward, smashing a fist onto Brock. This looked like a casual strike, but it contained more than eighty percent of his full strength. It was enough to destroy any other B-Grade besides Strawpin.

Brock raised his palm and caught the fist. A dull thud echoed. Brock’s monkey grin was revealed behind his hand. “Nice try, bro,” he said, “but you need to try harder.”

Golden energy erupted. Fiend Prince frowned and yanked his hand free, retreating as quickly as possible. He gazed at his fist—his fingers had been singed by golden fire. He looked up to find Brock’s aura materializing into a golden brorilla shadow overlapping with his body. He tsked. “This guy is serious,” he told Strawpin. “There is no time to delay. Let’s get him together, so we can reach the Elder before he kills Jack Monstrous and leaves the shadow realm.”

Strawpin looked behind Brock. Some of them could probably bypass him, but Starhair waited right next to Jack Monstrous, guarding him—and the aura he revealed was no less than that of Strawpin’s. She tsked. They had to get the monkey.

“Disciples—attack!” she shouted, then shot out first. A long needle appeared in her hands. Her hat flew into the air, revealing long dark hair and breaking apart into multiple different strands of straw which hovered around her needle. With a mighty stab, she flung them forward.

Fiend Prince attacked at the same time. There were no fancy moves—he just charged. As for the other thirteen disciples, they fanned out and unleashed their moves on Brock, much like the Elders had done against the elemental.

Or, at least, they tried. The Great Silver disciples waved their hands but nothing happened. To their horror, they realized they’d lost their connection to the Dao.

“You may not rally against your big bro,” Brock’s voice struck them like divine decree. “Retreat and consider what you’ve done!”

“Ahh!” the disciples screamed. Intense pain erupted from their inner worlds, making them lose the ability to fly and crash into the dirt island below. Five people were gone, ten remained.

Strawpin clicked her tongue. “Fools. I told you not to trust him!” she exclaimed as he continued her strike.

Facing their combined attacks, Brock clasped his hands together. “To interrupt a duel is un-bro-like. So is to gang up on someone,” he declared. “You will be punished.”

Golden energy flared. It was like some ancient Dao resonated with Brock, echoing from inside his body. Scriptures appeared everywhere—chanting filled the air, unintelligible but carrying distinct power. All other disciples felt the Dao tighten around them, restricting their movements.

At the same time, the scriptures materialized into golden bodies. Brorillas appeared, a dozen of them, each carrying a different weapon but radiating the same light. “For big bro!” they exclaimed, falling onto the weaker disciples. A melee erupted.

Fiend Prince and Strawpin were unaffected. They charged directly at Brock, who smiled in welcome.

“Come.”

The three clashed. A staff appeared in Brock’s hand, as well as in the golden phantom’s surrounding him. Expert twirls met the pair’s advance. Fiend Prince was a fierce melee combatant, but Brock countered him easily, the staff flowing from one stance to the next without pause or pattern. Strawpin’s needle stabbed forward, fast and accurate, but it couldn’t penetrate the golden brorilla. As for the strands of straw, both stabbing and wrapping around Brock’s phantom was ineffective. ɽ𝔞ꞐỔʙΕⱾ

Strawpin gnashed her teeth. “To me!” she shouted. The strands wrapped around the needle, losing some flexibility but greatly enhancing its power. She stabbed out again, this time managing to penetrate the golden brorilla. Most of the strike’s power was lost, however, and Brock managed to stop it between his fingers.

“Well done, straw bro,” he said, grinning.

Meanwhile, Fiend Prince had taken advantage of this opening to unleash a devastating offensive, cutting the golden brorilla to pieces and slowly advancing on Brock. The brorilla’s eyes shone. He let go of Strawpin’s needle, letting her retreat. “You’re good enough!” he exclaimed, joy in his voice. “Then, let me try out my newest ability!”

The golden brorilla shone brilliantly. Fiend Prince and Strawpin retreated, fearing an explosion, but that didn’t happen—instead, the massive brorilla phantom compressed and compressed, eventually plastering itself directly on Brock’s body. He now shone as if wearing golden armor—an awe-inspiring aura emerged from inside him, as if a brorilla irreproachable, unfathomable, unopposable. A little bit of golden light remained after forming the golden armor, and it transformed into two new arms, sticking out below Brock’s armpits.

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Brock smiled. “Big Bro Form!” he shouted. “Come!”

He didn’t wait. He charged out first, smashing into the pair like a bull. Fiend Prince’s martial arts were broken. The needle stabbed Brock, only barely penetrating his armor and drawing out a hint of blood.

Brock laughed. He twirled his staff, bringing it down on his opponents. In this form, he possessed significantly higher offense, defense, and speed. He was overall much stronger, enough to pressure both of them by himself. Meanwhile, his dozen golden brorillas from before were fighting the weaker disciples, slowly gaining ground.

As Strawpin and Fiend Prince desperately resisted Brock’s pounding, they exchanged a glance, recognizing the shock in each other’s eyes. They were supposed to be the strongest B-Grades in the world. Yet, this low-key brorilla, this silly guy who kept drinking wine, could fight both of them while simultaneously defending against nine other top disciples?

And he was winning?!

“I refuse to accept this!” Fiend Prince roared, his fiery blood getting the best of him. He switched to offense, bravely charging into Brock’s assault. He uses a staff, he deduced. If I get into close quarters, I win!

Strawpin changed her stance to match him. Her needle shot out, delivering a thousand stabs in the blink of an eye. The strands of straw wrapped around it glowed, slowly burning away to release more power.

Brock welcomed their attacks. He calmly defended, using his staff and armor to meet each of their strikes. Clangs filled the world. The darkness shook behind them, pierced by shockwaves. In the outside universe, this battle would have shattered planets—here, it could only raise some wind.

Brock defended and waited. Eventually, one of Fiend Prince’s attacks went an inch too wide—Strawpin’s stab wasn’t perfectly synchronized either. Brock used his staff to push the devil’s hand aside, striking at his face with the butt of his staff. Fiend Prince went flying. Strawpin’s strike landed, piercing Brock’s skin but stopping against his ribcage. In return, he swung his staff and delivered a full-force strike into her chest, sending her flying as well. She smashed into Fiend Prince, who’d just recovered, stunning them both for an instant.

“Big Bro Slap!” Brock shouted. He charged. The two head disciples braced themselves, ready to block his staff, but it was only a feint. The true strike came from above. A golden palm materialized, larger than Fiend Prince and Strawpin combined, and smashed into their heads. They coughed out blood. The palm kept going, carrying them along through the air until they smashed into the island below, titling it dangerously. Cracks spread all around. Strawpin’s scream echoed.

The palm remained, pressing down on them. Before they could escape, Brock shot towards the eight weaker disciples, who were already losing against his conjured brorillas. As soon as he joined the fray, the battle became pointless—disciples smashed into the island below one by one, all injured but alive.

When Fiend Prince and Strawpin finally managed to push the golden palm away, their hair disheveled and bleeding from various places, they found their fellow disciples groaning on the ground beside them, while Brock and his army of golden brorillas slowly descended from the sky above. His sole injury, a stab inflicted by Strawpin, had already healed.

“Yield,” he commanded. “You cannot defeat me.”

Strawpin bit her lips. “How can you be so strong!?” she demanded. “Are you hiding your cultivation?”

“I follow the true path,” Brock replied simply. Their inaction indicated their surrender. He let his brorillas disperse, maintaining his golden armor just in case.

“Hahaha!” Fiend Prince laughed, his voice laden with bitterness. “I admit you’re strong, the strongest Baron I have ever met, but do you really think you can spare the time to fight us? Your friend is trapped in the Elder’s Shadow Realm. While we delay you, he’s dying! It’s a miracle he’s even survived this long!”

Hearing his biting words, Brock only chuckled. He spared a glance for Jack and Shadowhound, both of whom remained immobilized, facing each other. “Don’t worry,” he said. “My big bro can handle this. He’s far stronger than me.”

“Far stronger?” Strawpin recoiled. “Don’t make me laugh. That’s impossible!”

The sound of breaking glass echoed from behind Brock. Jack and Shadowhound moved again. However, while Jack was panting, he was uninjured—Elder Shadowhound was bleeding from all orifices, the crimson glow in his eyes fading. “My turn,” Jack said. He charged.

Elder Shadowhound screamed. “This is impossible! Get away from me!” he shouted, flying back in retreat.

Strawpin was stunned. So was Fiend Prince and every other disciple. Brock was already challenging their understanding of the world—he was much stronger than they ever thought possible. And… If Jack was even stronger than that… If a late Baron could make a middle Autarch scream and run away in fear…

How is that possible? Strawpin asked herself, frozen in place. Her gaze alternated between Jack and Brock—two impossible existences. Her eyes shook. Such levels of talent… How is this even possible? Am I actually weak…or are they just…monsters?

***

The shadow realm shattered. All the wraiths, all the monsters, all the blades had carved up Jack’s body, but he stood tall. He just defended. It was Shadowhound who was spending his energy to release these attacks. Eventually, the Elder got tired. Sweat poured down his body. Blood flowed from his orifices. When he couldn’t take it anymore, the world of will withdrew, and Jack was free.

He glanced to the side, finding the many disciples on the ground while Brock hovered over them—as it should be. He was pleasantly surprised to find they were all alive. Brock had limited the killing, as Great Silver had instructed.

Good job, bro.

He turned towards his opponent.

“This is impossible!” Elder Shadowhound shouted. “Get away from me!”

He shot into the distance, but why would Jack let him? He flashed ahead of the Elder, delivering a devastating Meteor Punch. Shadowhound’s eyes flashed with glee. “Aha! You really are a fool, you fell for it! I don’t know how you developed such willpower defense, but there is no way you can match a middle Autarch in a direct clash. Die!”

He continued his path, darkness enveloping him like a black meteor. Jack grinned at the similarity. His Meteor Punch changed mid-air into Supernova, a stronger attack, and smashed against Shadowhound. Flesh scattered. The Elder shot backward, blood trailing his path, as even the shadows around him flickered to reveal a dark, hyena-like body.

Shadowhound specialized in Will attacks, which had already been defeated by Jack, so his physical prowess was lacking. Additionally, he was already injured and exhausted. How could he possibly match up to Jack, who could fight even stronger middle A-Grades on equal footing?

Jack teleported. He intercepted Shadowhound mid-flight and smashed a flurry of blows onto him, forcibly altering his trajectory. He flashed again and smashed a knee into the Elder’s midsection from below, shooting him upward. With a final teleportation, he reappeared above the Elder, preparing a massive strike and unleashing it downward. “Supernova!”

Elder Shadowhound screamed as his ribcage shattered. Blood erupted like a geyser. He broke the sound barrier as he fell downward, crashing into the edge of the island so heavily he tipped the whole thing, almost upturning it. Now is my chance! he thought. The final vestiges of his Dao of Darkness activated, preparing to hide him in the ever-present dark mist. He was lucky to be in this environment—here, even a late Autarch couldn’t find him. This was the move he relied on to dare struggle against Owlhead!

However, he didn’t expect Jack to show no mercy. After he smashed Shadowhound downward, he hadn’t delayed an instant—he dived after him, preparing another Supernova, even more powerful than the last. The Elder may have lost, but he’d already demonstrated an ability to dominate other people. If he used that move to take control of Starhair, it could mean trouble. Jack wouldn’t let that happen.

As Shadowhound opened his eyes, ready to blend into the darkness, he found a massive fist descending on him like a falling star. Shit.

“Supernova!”

The world rumbled. Tall waves splashed out, while an entire half of the island crumbled, upsetting the water below. Shadowhound’s mangled body sank into the sea, but not before Jack snatched his core.

A middle A-Grade… Dead!

Jack was panting, but he stood and surveyed the place. All threats were neutralized. They’d won. As for the disciples who remained on the ground, gazing at him with extreme shock… They honestly weren’t much.

“Good job, Brock,” he said. “I hope those guys didn’t give you trouble.”

“Not much,” the brorilla replied with a shrug and a smile. “They’re actually very well behaved!”